Under My Enemy's Roof - Under Him

“I’m sorry,” I said, finally pulling away.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For whatever I did, to upset you.”

“Oh, oh, no. You didn’t upset me. Quite the opposite, you freed me!”

“From what?”

“Prejudice. I never had any idea about any of it. We were taught that anyone not like us was a heathen and therefore our enemy. Including Jews and Mormons. Mom tried to point out that Jesus was a Jew. Dad called her a filthy liar and broke her jaw.”

“Your dad sounds like a real charmer,” Augustus said, dripping with sarcasm.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“He gave you that?”

I followed his arm to the cross. Unconsciously, I covered it with my hand. Embarrassed by how it looked.

“Yes, I deserved it.”

“No. I don’t care what you did. No one deserves to be mutilated like that. Especially not a kid.”

“How did you know I was a kid.”

“I started with your current age and subtracted the level of healing. My baby sister is fifteen.”

“Do you have anything?” I asked.

“Not like that. All mine were voluntary. Like I said, my body is mine along with all my senses, for both pleasure and pain.”

“That’s what upsets you isn’t it? Not the fact of the brand but because I was so young and didn’t and couldn’t consent to it. I-I was forced.”

“Damn right you were, and if I ever meet your dad I am going to give him a piece of my mind. I have a lot to spare.”

The giggle was wildly inappropriate but there was still nothing I could do about it. It wasn’t the threat against my daddy that tickled me so much as his delivery. I didn’t think for a second that Augustus would actually hurt him. Aside from his stated principles, he just didn’t seem like the type. I’d seen violence in a man’s eyes and Augustus just didn’t have the look.

“I could use a drink, how about you?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t really drink. Except communion wine.”

“Apparently,” Augustus mused, searching fruitlessly through the kitchen.

“I think there’s some cider in the fridge.”

“Bingo,” Augustus said, coming up with two bottles of soft apple cider.

Popping them with the bottle-opener, he returned victorious, handing me one. We were a lot closer, both personally and physically, as I’d scooted over to the middle cushion. I’d already wrapped myself around him like a baby koala and really didn’t see what it hurt. I figured if Jesus had been friends with tax collectors and prostitutes, I could be friends with Augustus.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What happened to your eye?”

I thought he might leave. At least with the slow way he put his bottle on the coffee table and wouldn’t look at me.

“How much detail do you want?”

“All of it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t even have to think about it. It was clear he had something to get off his chest, and I was happy to help him carry that load. He’d already helped me so much.

“It was shrapnel.”

“Someone shot you?”

“No, not directly anyway.”

Augustus, took a deep breath and let it out, rubbing the palms of his hands nervously on his pant legs.

“It’s going to be a bit of a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“True.”

Recovering the cider, he took a big, long swig, emptying nearly half the bottle before beginning. I didn’t have the heart to remind him it was non-alcoholic.

“I was the middle of five kids. Two older, two younger, a boy and a girl on each end. My parents were the chapter founders where we were and were really busy. Trying their best for us, even if they weren’t there wasn’t a lot. I never doubted that they loved us.”

He took another drink. I guessed he was trying to calm his nerves before he tried to continue.

“When I was fifteen, we had a new arrival to the Temple. A life-long LaVeyan who had moved across the country just to join our chapter. She’d heard good things and was looking to make a difference. Deadly serious and with the force of a hurricane, she really shook things up.”

“What was her name?”

“Jax. Short for Jackson. She was named after her uncle who had been killed by a Bible-thumping sheriff who took a disliking. She took a liking to me and became a sort of mentor. Both more and less than either. She taught me everything I would need to know to get by in the world. Especially how to deal with the hate I was going to get by being different. Something she’d been dealing with for years.”

“How old was she?”

“At that time, a ripe old twenty-four. Keep in mind, I was only fifteen, so she seemed a lot older. In some ways she was. Already having lived more lifetimes in less than a quarter century than most people do in their entire lifespans. I heard about a lot of it. Usually when she was trying to talk me down from doing something stupid. Using her experience to set me on a better path.”